Evening newspaper

Turning pages of black and white
But not that clear.
Often reading between the lines over a cup of steaming coffee.

Day after day, leafing through the tragic events experienced by some...too many.
So she cries.
Silent, transparent tears for the stories of innocent women, men and children wrapped up in plastic.
The cold hills air sets in, faces are crumpled into jagged balls and lit.
Lives turn to smoke and climb up the chimney, a final goodbye.